she said my poem was very
familiar and earnest – had hemingway
written something similar?
no, she explained further,
what she meant was that it
was honest and hopeful and real.
ironic, as I only write what I feel
and often feel nothing and never
tell the truth – and hardly ever care.
in saying that to her baffled expression
I was in essence offering the greatest
truth that I could share.
no wonder hemingway locked, loaded
then shot. an end to the earnest
and the truth we all got